No motion, no sound, except the quick racing of the pen over the paper.
"Doctor! Doctor!"—a little louder, and with another step into the apartment,—"tea is ready."
The Doctor stretched his head forward to a paper which lay before him, and responded in a low, murmuring voice, as reading something.
"Firstly,—if underived virtue be peculiar to the Deity, can it be the duty of a creature to have it?"
Here a little waxen hand came with a very gentle tap on his huge shoulder, and "Doctor, tea is ready," penetrated drowsily to the nerve of his ear, as a sound heard in sleep. He rose suddenly with a start, opened a pair of great blue eyes, which shone abstractedly under the dome of a capacious and lofty forehead, and fixed them on the maiden, who by this time was looking up rather archly, and yet with an attitude of the most profound respect, while her venerated friend was assembling together his earthly faculties.
"Tea is ready, if you please. Mother wished me to call you."
"Oh!—ah!—yes!—indeed!" he said, looking confusedly about, and starting for the door, in his study-gown.
"If you please, Sir," said Mary, standing in his way, "would you not like to put on your coat and wig?"
The Doctor gave a hurried glance at his study-gown, put his hand to his head, which, in place of the ample curls of his full-bottomed wig, was decked only with a very ordinary cap, and seemed to come at once to a full comprehension. He smiled a kind of conscious, benignant smile, which adorned his high cheek-bones and hard features as sunshine adorns the side of a rock, and said, kindly, "Ah, well, child, I understand now; I'll be out in a moment."
And Mary, sure that he was now on the right track, went back to the tearoom with the announcement that the Doctor was coming.